


Surface Tension

by Xyriath



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (sort of modern anyway), Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Pool Boy, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Manipulation, Infidelity, M/M, Rating will change, Shiro/Sendak (background), Slow Burn, Trophy Husband Shiro (Voltron), Unhealthy marriage
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-10
Updated: 2019-03-01
Packaged: 2019-07-10 10:39:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,697
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15947669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyriath/pseuds/Xyriath
Summary: Shiro is the most perfect man Keith has ever met.  Beautiful, rich, smart, funny, and famous enough to have at least three websites dedicated to him alone.Problem is, he's also married to Keith's new boss: billionaire investor, business magnate, and engineer Sendak.Keith tells himself that the flirting can't be serious.  Shiro's bored, of course, spending all of his time cooped inside.  Keith's just a diversion.  There's no way he'd want anything more than amusement from a pool boy from Texas, not when he's swimming in wealth on one of the biggest estates in Los Angeles.But opulence can gild the ugly and unglamorous.  Money is no substitute for human compassion.  And even Shiro's perfect mask can't hold up forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> If you want a playlist for this AU just put on the entire The Fame/Monster album by Lady Gaga tbh.

“ _Sendak isn’t too keen on hiring someone as young as you—or as attractive—to take on this job.  But he owes me far too many favors to say no.  Don’t give him an excuse to make you suffer for it._ ”

Kolivan’s warning rings in Keith’s ears as he’s led around the massive estate, trying not to let his eyes bug out.  He’s pretty sure that this place could house at _least_ the entirety of his last two shitty neighborhoods.

“You will clean the pool once a week.  My husband is very particular about its cleanliness, so be sure that it is done spotlessly.  He prefers the water at a very specific temperature, and during the summer, you will also drain half the water and refill it with cooler water to maintain that temperature.”

Keith opens his mouth to ask about water waste—the news hasn’t shut up about the drought in Los Angeles since Keith was in high school—but then thinks better of it.  After all, these people can probably afford to buy the entire county.  Why would they care about a measly five hundred bucks a day in overuse fines?

“The lawn will also need to be mowed once a week,” Sendak continues, glancing over at Keith with veiled suspicion, and waving out at the “yard”—Keith had googled the address on Kolivan’s computer the day before; he was pretty sure that twenty acres was more of a campus than a yard.  “The equipment is in the garage near your quarters.  As you can see, it’s an enormous task, but I won’t accept any cut corners.  You will do any mowing after noon, only.  My husband won’t be pleased if you wake him.”

“Yessir.”  Keith is distracted by the immaculate lawns, topiary hedges, and sparkling fountains.  He’s seen this stuff in movies before.  Somehow it’s even more indulgent in person.

And that’s not even starting on the _house._

“Any spare time you have will be expected to be spent assisting with the proper landscaping of the property.  With the rate I’m paying you, and the housing arrangements I’ve provided, I expect a thorough job.  Understood?”

Keith nods.  It’s good pay.  Great pay, actually.  He can pay off his bike and everything else and maybe even consider saving up for school again.  Unlikely, but he can dream.

“The pool needs attention immediately; our last worker was lazy, and left it so long that I’ve been informed that it needs to be fully drained.  You’ve done this sort of work before, correct?”  Sendak steps towards the enclosure that Keith had spotted earlier; now, he can see that what he’d thought was just a pool is actually an obscene display of opulence.

Sandstone tiles surround the pool itself, then transition into a terrace with a variety of plants between the rocks, fashioned into natural seats intended to fit several people.  That entire side has a more natural look, with rocks piled in an obviously aesthetically pleasing fashion, but as it transitions close to the house, columns adorned with lion’s heads support a walkway, tiered to barely just overlap with the pool, from which a waterfall pours.  As he takes in the width, the railings, he realizes: that’s not just a waterfall; it’s a second pool.  Two fucking stories of cleaning.  Great.

Past the edge of the lower story’s pool, underneath the walkway, Keith spots a golf green.  He hopes that won’t be part of his job.

Palm trees, of course, dot the entire lavish display.

“Yeah,” Keith croaks, trying not to let his jaw hang open.  “Not, uh, this big, but as long as the controls are standard…”

“You’ll need to ask the groundskeeper for that information.”  Keith wonders distantly why that groundskeeper isn’t explaining this to him, but as Sendak gestures at a “shed” that could probably house an entire family, he drags his attention back to the present.  “You’ll find everything you need in—”

And then Sendak’s own attention immediately diverts to a person stepping into the pool’s enclosure.  With a smirk, he steps over, ignoring Keith completely.

For just a moment, Keith sees beauty so perfectly sculpted that he can hardly breathe.  The man is human, not Galra, and although Sendak stands well over eight feet, the man must be over six himself.  So much skin gleams rich and tanned under the sun.  There’s a jawbone sharp enough to crack open a cold beer, and thick, black hair is perfectly styled.  It’s like looking at a painting, even as Sendak wraps a large, purple arm around the trim waist, presses a lingering kiss to his mouth, then nuzzles at his jaw.  The man returns it absently, a little surprised, but it melts into what seems like genuine affection.

A model.  No.  A movie star?  Keith doesn’t know his celebrities.  But there’s no way this guy isn’t famous.  Who would bother with a body like that if they weren’t getting paid for it?

Sunglasses slide off, and the face is even more gorgeous than Keith had expected, if that’s even possible.  Disinterested gray eyes take Keith in from head to toe and back again.  He sighs, rolling his eyes and pouting up at Sendak, but Keith stays star-struck until the Adonis opens his mouth and silver spoon poison drips out.

“Really?  You have to bring the help around when I’m here?  Can’t you put them to work somewhere less…”  He waves the hand with the sunglasses dismissively at Keith, a thread of well-bred disgust audible in his voice.  “…visible?”

Keith’s mouth clips shut once more.

Sendak rumbles a little, and Keith has spent enough time around Galra that he’s pretty sure there’s a hint of pleasure in the dismissal.  “Not unless you want your pool to stay filthy.”

The man sighs, and Keith catches the glint of a gold band on the left ring finger as he makes his way past them both, settling into his chair with a book.  “I suppose.  Just make sure he’s not too noisy about it.”

Beauty and the beast, Keith thinks.  Except maybe they’re both awful.

His uniform itches in the sun, but Keith only shifts from foot to foot until he gets his dismissal.

Sendak turns to Keith, raising an eyebrow.  “Well?”

“Sir,” Keith says with a nod.  He walks behind the chair of the beautiful man, hoping there will be no trouble if he just stays out of the way.

—

Shiro hadn’t expected such blatant, almost sweet affection when he’d stepped into the pool area.  He’d allowed himself to lean into it, enjoy what had become such a rarity in the past few years.

And then he’d immediately spotted the reason why.

The new pool boy is beautiful.  Shiro can feel his head practically spin at the delicate features, the muscled form underneath the snug clothing.

And he knows what he looks like, too, his own body the result of having nothing to do but work out all day, shirtless for an afternoon at the pool.  If the new kid has any interest in boys, they’re both in trouble.

So Shiro immediately does what he has to do, unmoving at the slight flinch from the kid, putting on the face he uses when dealing with the rich and soulless.

And it works.  Sendak is pleased, the boy is cowed, and Shiro is free to settle in with his book and watch the new boy carefully behind his glasses, free of suspicion.

His eyes flick below the pool boy’s waist as he heads to the shed.

…Shiro almost feels guilty.  He’s going to enjoy this much more than he should.

—

The pool shed has two doors, one decorative molding and the other painted to look as if it’s part of the wall.  He hazards a guess that this is the one he’s to use.  Discreet.  Out of the way.  Forgettable.

Just like Keith.

Inside, the storage room is bigger than Keith’s last apartment, and it’s not even a third of the size of what the outside suggests.  There’s a fancy drain pipe that he fumbles with for a while, but eventually it starts to hum and the pool starts to empty.  He takes a bucket and scrub brush and heads for the tap outside.

As he walks past the husband, head down, the man holds out an arm, stopping him from continuing.

“What’s your name?” Beauty asks, voice more mild than before.

Keith pauses and considers, but realizes that this has to happen.  He hefts the button uncomfortably.

“Keith, sir.  Kogane.”

The man hums, nodding.  “Japanese?”

“…Some.  My dad was half.  And Korean.  Mom, too.”

Keith wonders if this is some sort of attempt at solidarity between him and Beauty; not only both human, but also both Asian.  Whatever reason it might be, he hopes maybe this guy will give him a break from Sendak’s power trips.

“Shiro,” Beauty says quietly, then hesitates.  “…More or less.”

“Nice to meet you,” Keith says.  This is a script he knows.  But he doesn’t know if it’s okay to use “Shiro” instead of “Mister Sendak” or whatever.

“You don’t have to lie, you know,” Shiro says wryly.  “I’m sorry for earlier.  It’s… better this way.”

“I’m just grateful for the opportunity, sir.”  Keith doesn’t get it, but if Shiro wants to be dramatic and mysterious, then Keith is going to let him.  He’s just here for the pool.

Shiro sighs.  “He doesn’t like it if I get too… friendly,” he says, voice still wry, and Keith finds himself reluctantly seeing that he _sort_ of has a point.  “Easier to keep him happy.  I’m sure you can understand.”

There’s a line between distant and rude, but Keith keeps his mouth shut.  He doesn’t know these people.  Shiro definitely knows Sendak better than Keith ever will.

Still, he huffs through his nose and decides to give the guy a chance.

“Don’t worry about it.  You can pretend I’m not here, if that helps.”

Keith glances over quickly, and he thinks he might spot the corner of Shiro’s lip curling up in the faintest of smirks.  He can’t tell if Shiro’s watching him, not behind those sunglasses lens, but his skin prickles anyway.

“Why would I do that?”

“To… keep him happy?” Keith parrots.

“He won’t be unhappy if he doesn’t know,” Shiro says frankly.

Keith feels a little like a mouse in a trap, but Shiro looks so sincere.

“I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Shiro’s smirk widens into something almost resembling a grin, and he reaches up to lower his sunglasses, making it very clear that he is looking at Keith.

“Deal.”

Another prickle runs up Keith’s spine, but he hesitantly smiles back anyway.  He hefts the bucket again.

“As you like, sir.”  He heads for the tap, Shiro’s eyes a near-brand on his skin.

“You can call me Shiro when we’re alone,” Shiro says mildly.  “Sir or Mr. Sendak would be best if you need to address me around him.”

“Then as you like, Shiro,” Keith amends, starting to grin.  “Is there any particular way you want your pool kept?”  The sun beats its heat down on Keith’s face and shoulders, and he scoops some of the water from the tap and splashes it on his face.  For the moment, it slicks his hair back, but it’ll eventually tumble forward again.

“Eighty-three degrees,” Shiro murmurs.  “The temperature controls are in there.”

“Of course.  And what about you?  I can bring out a table for drinks, or a radio.”  The bucket is full.  The pool is empty.  “If you want me to move your chair for the best sun throughout the day, just let me know.”

Excuses to be here, Keith realizes.  Shiro is far more interesting than hedges.

Shiro raises an eyebrow.  “You make drinks?”

“Nothing fancy.”  Keith shrugs.  “Whiskey sour, cosmo.  Basic stuff.  I worked at a gay bar for a while.”

Shiro’s eyes light up, and he doesn’t bother to hide it, sunglasses still perched on that long, perfectly-shaped nose.  “Prefer to work for your own?” he teased, still smirking.

“Yeah, I guess I do,” Keith agrees, smirking a tiny bit himself.  The bucket is heavier now that it’s full.  Keith strains to lift it and heads for the bare steps at the shallow end of the pool.

“You don’t have to wear those long sleeves in this weather, you know,” Shiro suggests mildly.

“You sure?” Keith asks, but his fingers are already at the zipper, bucket on the floor.

“Positive,” he drawls, and when Keith glances over, he’s watching Keith with clear interest.

Keith quirks an eyebrow, but pulls the zipper anyway, shrugging off the top half of his boiler suit and tying it snug at his hips.  The breeze finally hits his sweaty skin with a sensation akin to bliss.

He continues to sneak looks over at Shiro, who isn’t even bothering to hide the way he bites his lip.  Keith can practically feel the eyes lingering on him.  He knows that he has a pretty nice body: strong arms, toned from a life of manual labor, the white tank cut to show his shoulder blades, his waist pretty trim himself.

The mega-rich mega- _married_ supermodel is, Keith decides, definitely flirting with him.

And that’s…

Wow.

Good, but bad.  But so, so good.

He dunks the scrub brush and slaps it to the wall, leaning forward, telling himself that he’s overextending to finish faster and not to show off.

Shiro is so hot that he’s basically on fire, and Keith isn’t so sure that this job won’t end up burning him.

“If it ever comes up,” Shiro begins casually, sliding his sunglasses on again and leaning back, ignoring his book in favor of the view, “make sure Sendak thinks you’re straight.”

“You want me to go back into the closet so your husband doesn’t fly into a jealous rage?” Keith asks flippantly.  The tiles are barely dirty.  He leaves each one gleaming.

“Otherwise he’ll think you want to fuck me.”  Shiro tilts his head.  “And after seeing what you look like in that tank top, he’ll think I want you to.”

Keith almost drops the sponge, but catches it just in time.  “Kind of blunt, don’t you think?”

He resists the urge to ask whether or not Shiro _does_ want him to.

“I’m just telling you what he’ll think,” Shiro says mildly.

“I’ll try and act suitably cowed in front of him, then.”  Keith, done with the wall, drops to his knees to start on the bottom.  “And you’ll just have to look somewhere else when I’m in a tank.”

“Why do you think I have sunglasses?” Shiro shoots back, and Keith can hear the grin growing in his voice.  “And make sure it’s just around him.  I couldn’t stand you turning all boring around me.”

“Not boring, then.  As you like.”  Keith rolls his shoulders and scrubs hard, visions of the way Shiro’s trunks hang low on his hips playing in his mind even when he’s staring at tile.

Shiro’s just a beautiful guy.  Kind of funny, even if he is sharp like a cat’s claw.  Nothing that Keith hasn’t seen before.

And yet.

“You’re so accommodating.  I’ll have that drink, when you have a moment.”

Keith pauses, panting lightly.  He can feel his hair sticking to him.  “What do you want?”

“Sex on the Beach,” Shiro replies, smoothly and without hesitation.  Keith grins, turning to eye Shiro.

“Coming right up.  Just let me finish.”  Keith completes the deep end, considers the angle, then shifts to finish the shallow end, aware of Shiro’s eyes on his… back.

“Of course.  I’d never stop you finishing,” Shiro hums.

Keith doesn’t want to piss off his scary, tall, Galra boss, so he leaves Shiro to his book, scrubbing at the gorgeous, swirled, glass tiles.

He wipes his brow when he’s done, standing to inspect his work.  He thinks he’s done a pretty good job, if he does say so himself.

“So, Sex on the Beach?”

“Or in a hot tub.”

Keith snorts, vaulting out of the low side of the pool and heading into the pool shed to turn on the pump.  Filtered water returns to the pool, and he remembers to turn it to the right temperature first.  He’ll earn his keep.

“You’ll have to show me around the kitchen,” he says, hands in his pockets as he leans against the doorway.

Shiro raises an eyebrow up at him.  “Weren’t you supposed to bring me a drink?”

“You don’t keep your drinks in the kitchen?” Keith asks, though he genuinely won’t be surprised if they have their own bar here.

“I wouldn’t know what’s in there; I don’t think I’ve been since I moved in.”  Wow.  An adult who never cooks.  What kind of life is this?  Shiro shrugs.  “There’s a bar.  I can… show you where that is, at least.  This time.”

Keith can sense a slight disapproval in Shiro’s tone, but he doesn’t ask why.  Rich people were a puzzle he never wanted to solve.

“Sure.  I’m good with bars.”

With a dramatic sigh, Shiro stands.  “Be careful.  Sendak won’t appreciate it if you ever ask him to show you anywhere.  You should ask the servants instead.”

Oh.  He’s sulky that he has to show Keith around.  Whatever.

“…Servants?”  Keith raises another eyebrow.  Is he a servant?  He gets paid, but damn, he’s a groundskeeper, not a fucking butler.

“Did Sendak not introduce you to the others?”

“No.  He just sort of pointed at the little… house on the grounds as my place and then started listing rules.”

“Right.  Well, never let it be said that he’s a decent host.”  Shiro waves him towards the mansion, swaying his hips just a little.

Keith turns off the pump and follows, finding it easier to study Shiro from behind.  Something about him seems so warm, even when he’s playing up his rich boy status or making a spoiled comment, and it’s confusing Keith’s instincts.  They’re telling him to run one finger all the way down that spine and over the dimples of Shiro’s lower back like that wouldn’t be signing his own death warrant.

He shakes his head to clear it.

“How many other staff members are there?”

“Mmm, twenty to thirty?  It depends on the day.  Some aren’t always here.”

“Jesus,” Keith murmurs.  He’s not sure he could find tasks for five people in his last apartment, or even this new place, never mind thirty plus.

“What?” Shiro laughs.  “I know plenty of people with more.”

“I believe that,” Keith grumbles.  “You don’t have a bartender, though?”

“Of course we do.  Who doesn’t have a bartender?  I just liked the image of you bringing me poolside drinks.”

Keith flushes before he can stop himself, and is glad to be behind Shiro where he can’t see it.

“Well, maybe they can teach me some new stuff.”

“I hope so.  If not, you might want to read up.  I’ll want a Between the Sheets next.”

Okay, Keith doesn’t know that one.  He’ll have to do homework now.

Fortunately, he does know the Cumshot, the Climax, and the Afternoon Delight, but he has a feeling Shiro has a lot more on his menu than The Attic ever did.

“Planning on partying later?”  It’s like noon.  Keith hopes vaguely that he’s not enabling anything here.

“Only a very small, intimate one,” Shiro replies smoothly, turning to smirk at Keith.

Keith tries not to focus on how Shiro’s mouth forms around the word “intimate.”

“Then we’d better get you buzzed.”

“What, to take advantage of me?” Shiro practically purrs.

“Don’t let the coveralls fool you; I’m a gentleman,” Keith asserts.

Shiro sighs in clear disappointment.  “Well, no one’s perfect.”

Keith snorts.  Maybe Shiro has his good side, too.

“Apologies, sir.”

“What did I tell you about being boring?”

“You said I’m not allowed to be boring,” Keith replies dutifully.  “My bad.”

“I do like bad, though,” he teases, stepping into the cool air of the house.

“I noticed,” Keith says nonchalantly.  The house is full of expensive shit right off the bat.  Keith is sure he couldn’t afford even a single fucking lamp.  Antique oriental furniture and chandeliers and paintings that are probably all original or something.  A lot of gold.

Keith wonders if Shiro’s the reason for the décor choices, or if Sendak’s got a fetish for the “Far East.”

It leaves a nasty sensation in his gut.

Shiro laughs softly.  “I’ll show you the bar and let our butler know that you’ve arrived.  He’ll introduce you to the rest of our staff when we’re finished.”  He might not remember where the kitchen is, but he sure makes a beeline for the bar.

Keith whistles when he sees it.  “I bet you guys throw killer parties.”

“They’re one of the better parts of this existence, yes.”  Shiro gestures at the bar.  “Are you fine with this?”

The polished mahogany probably costs more than Keith’s bike payment.  “Yeah.  I mean, the last place I did this had a bunch of stacked crates topped with a door as a bar top, so.  It’s great.”

Shiro laughs delightedly.  “I’m glad we’re an upgrade.”

“I feel underdressed.”

“Overdressed, actually.  You should take some more off.”

“You kiss your husband with that flirty mouth?” Keith teases, pulling down a glass and rooting through bottles like he’s been here a thousand times before.

“I can do a lot of things with it.  Maybe if you do your job well, you’ll find out.”

“If I did my job _well_ , I’d have left you with that book by the pool and be knee deep in hedge clippings right now.”

“But wouldn’t you rather earn the sight of _me_ on my knees?” Shiro asks casually.

Keith rolls his eyes with a grin and shakes the cocktail shaker violently.  The noise settles between them.

Eventually he slams it on the side and flicks off the cap.  It pours bright and delicious into a glass that glimmers crystal.

“Sex on the Beach, _Mister Sendak._ ”

Shiro grins back, sliding his hand out to curl around it, then lifting it for a long, slow sip.

“Orgasmic,” he drawls.  “I can’t wait to see what else you could do.”

“I promise to work hard,” Keith says slyly.  The bottles return to their spaces, the mixer dumped in the sink.

Shiro must be incredibly bored here.  Keith likes the attention from someone so strikingly handsome, and he’s happy to bring some fun into Shiro’s day.  It’s not like it’s _serious._  No one orders a Sex on the Beach when they’re serious.

And no one with a house like this hits on a guy like Keith for more than a good time.

It’s fine.  It’s fun.  He thinks he’s going to like the parts of his day when he gets to hang out with Shiro.


	2. Chapter 2

Shiro knows he’s thirsty.  But he can’t help himself.

He sips at his drink and watches Keith clean up after himself.

“It’s good,” he hums.  “I might have to make this a more permanent job for you.”

“As you like.”  Keith flashes a grin.  Shiro grins back; Keith’s smile is beautiful, a glimpse of something wild and feral and  _ free _ , and Shiro wants to lose himself in it.

Shiro wonders if Keith has seen the Princess Bride.  The thought leaves him with more wistfulness than he’d expected.  But Buttercup had never married her prince. This had come around a little too late for Shiro.

Keith finishes cleaning up, and turns to go.  Shiro leans on the bar, clearing his throat. “I didn’t tell you I was finished with you yet.”

“Of course.  What else can I do for you?”

Shiro debates spilling some on himself and ordering Keith to lick it up.

Maybe next time.

“Well, I’ll need another once I’m finished.  Like I said, Between the Sheets. And a Climax.”

“I’ll have to google what to do for a Between the Sheets,” Keith admits, and god, he’s flushing lightly and it’s adorable.  Then he pauses, looking a little alarmed, and clarifies, “The drink. I haven’t made it before.”

Shiro’s grin widens.  “Oh, I can give you a private lesson on  _ that _ .”

Keith lifts his chin, removing the mixer from the sink.  “Why don’t you show me, then?”

Shiro meets his eyes brazenly.  “We’d have to go upstairs for that.”

“The  _ drink _ , loverboy.”  Keith holds out the mixer to Shiro and waggles it invitingly.

“It’s a what, now?”

“Weren’t you saying you’d show me how to make a Between the Sheets?” Keith asks innocently.

“I guess,” Shiro allows, deliberately sounding like he’s trying not to sound disappointed.

“You need to stop bluffing just for innuendo,” Keith teases.

“I never bluff,” Shiro shoots back, reaching out to take the mixer, deliberately allowing their fingers to touch for the first time.

Keith’s fingers twitch, and Shiro wonders if the rest of him is that warm.

“So dazzle me.”

“I already tried.  You turned me down.”

Still, Shiro accepts the mixer, selecting the liquor carefully.

Shiro may not have ever worked in a gay bar, but his entire purpose in life is to look beautiful.  He knows damn well how to make drinks—what Sendak likes to watch, Sendak gets to watch—and he puts every bit of finesse into it, down to deliberately licking his thumb free of the vodka.

Once finished, he pours it out.

For a moment after Shiro is done, Keith just watches.  Then, he shakes his head a little and covers a grin with his hand.  “Passable,” he says nonchalantly to the wall.

Shiro blinks slowly at him, watching him almost coyly, using his long eyelashes to his advantage.

“Any tips, sir?” he asks meekly.

“Pay more attention to your portions and less to showing off,” Keith says with mock seriousness, shifting his weight on his feet and shrugging a little.

Shiro smiles, but there’s a hint of bitterness to it that he doesn’t intend.

“Bold of you to assume I can do anything else.”

—

Keith thanks every god there might be that his boss is so fucking hot.

He’s gonna be distracted for the rest of forever, of course; he’s still wondering what the rest of Shiro feels like—the planes and ridges of skin over muscle and bone—and he can  _ still _ see Shiro smoldering in the dappled light from the windows after he finished making the drink.

Still, he hadn’t missed the… something else in that smile.

“I thought you wanted me bold?”

Shiro snorts softly.  “There is that.”

“Would you like me to carry that to the pool?” Keith asks.  For some reason, he wants to bring back Shiro’s playfulness and banish that bitter twist forever.

Shiro slides both drink towards Keith.  As he does, Keith spots a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye.  They both turn.

“Beau,” Shiro greets warmly, the happiness plastered back on his face.  “This is Keith, the new pool boy. As I understand, Sendak didn’t introduce him directly to you.”  He neglects to mention what Keith had already guessed: that Sendak had likely done it to specifically see Shiro and Keith’s reactions to each other.  “Keith, this is Beaumont Beboh. Beau, can you introduce him to the rest of the staff and explain the house rules once he’s finished?”

Keith turns, wiping his hand on his pants and extending it.  “Nice to meet you.”

Beau glances down at the hand, then back at Shiro, who nods.  He shakes it.

“Pleased to meet you as well.  I’ll show you around when the master is finished.”

The master.  Holy shit. This place is not fucking around.

“Thanks.  That would be great.”

Shiro nods at the drink.  “We should get back.”

“Oh.  Yeah, sure.”  Keith grabs a tray from behind the bar and places both drinks on it.  “See you around, Beau.”

He follows Shiro back outside.

“You still have the skimmers and such to change, right?”

“Sure.  And sweeping, and I’ve gotta scrub out that upper pool, too.  Will I be in your way?”

“Not at all.”

“Great.  Did you wanna swim today?”

“Maybe in a bit,” Shiro hums.  “I mostly want to drink.”

“Well, hit me up when you want another one.”  Keith squints as they step out from under the portico and into the sun, high and bright.  It makes the stones of the walkway shine.

Shiro just nods, heading over to lay back down on the chair.  Keith follows, setting the tray down on the small table, and Shiro picks up one and begins to sip.

Keith turns on the pump again, then begins cleaning out the wall skimmers.  Sendak hadn’t been kidding; they hadn’t been cleaned for weeks, maybe months.  He’d thought he’d have time to grab the ones in the shallow end from inside the pool, avoiding the arduous task of getting on his knees a million times around the enormous pool, but they’re dirtier than he’d expected.  With the pool steadily filling, he eventually starts to soak himself. With a noise of irritation, he brushes a hand over the wet tank. It does nothing.

Shiro grins over his drink at Keith.  “Having problems?”

“Your last guy should’ve done this earlier,” he grumbles back, wading through thigh-deep water to the second to last skimmer.  “ _ I _ should’ve done this earlier.”

“Oops,” Shiro drawls, entirely unapologetic.

With a noise of frustration, Keith grabs the back of his tank and wrenches it off.  He lays it out over the hot stones.

Shiro tips back the rest of his drink and picks up the second.  “How’s the temperature?”

“It’s okay.  I don’t think it’s as warm as you wanted yet.”

“Maybe not.”  Shiro settles back, sipping.  “I can wait.”

At least he’s cooled down now, Keith thinks wryly.  The jumpsuit is wet, too, but he draws the line at taking that off to impress Shiro.

The junk from the skimmers go in the trash, and he heads back into the shed to wrestle with the wide broom stacked in the mess left behind by his predecessor.

“Motherfu—”

He pulls too hard, and a whole bunch of rich-person poolhouse shit descends on him.

“Keith?!”

Bare feet slap on the ground.  Dust and gravel stick to the sweat of Keith’s back.  He groans and shoves brooms and cans off of himself.

“Wow.  Smooth.”  He takes a moment to stare hard at the wooden ceiling and contemplate his life.

Someone kneels next to him.  “Are you all right? Were you hurt?”

And now Shiro sees him turtled like a total idiot.

“I’m fine, just managed to wreck your pool shed.  Sorry. I’ll clear it up.”

“Are you sure?”  Shiro gently starts pulling stuff away.  “Does anything feel odd?”

“Just my pride,” Keith drones.  “I didn’t mean to disturb you.”

Shiro reaches out, brushing the hair gently back from Keith’s face.  “Are you sure?”

Keith’s eyes slide to him, and he makes an effort to not pull away.  Shiro is nice, and seems kind of lonely, and Keith… doesn’t want to add to that.

“I’m sure.  But now my reputation is in shreds.”

“I get to see you wet and half-naked and on your back.  It’s not all bad.”

Keith feels his face growing hot.  “Where the hell do you pull these from?”  He pushes himself up slowly, and things clatter around him as he moves the avalanche.

“I’ve got thirty years of them built up.  So, just lack of opportunity to use them.”

“You’re not always dropping one-liners?  I feel special.” Keith stands, returning brooms and rakes and spare planks of wood to their proper places.  He adds clearing this place out to his mental to-do list.

“I’m never dropping them,” Shiro says mildly.  “You sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, promise.”  Keith balances the last broom, then kicks the handle of the one he needs.  It flips up, and he catches it. “See? All good.”

Shiro raises his eyebrow, smirking a little.  “Now who’s showing off?”

“Me trying hard not to be boring.”  Keith shrugs. “Your nice shoes will get all dusty in here.”

“I could always make you clean them,” Shiro drawls.

Keith’s grin stretches wider.  “As you like.”

“I do like.  I might even wish, you know.”

“Not really,” Keith admits.  He glances up: Shiro seems to be watching him with an oddly intent expression on his face.  “But you’re the boss, after all.”

He’s not sure what game Shiro is playing, but he has a feeling he’ll allow himself to be led straight into hell.

The thought doesn’t bother him as much as it should.

—

Shiro follows Keith out of the pool shed, considering his next words before he says them.

“Not really what?  You don’t really want to do it?”  Shiro keeps his tone mild, but he’s listening intently.

“You said ‘you know’ and I said not really.  But… like I said. You’re in charge.”

Shiro sighs.  “I was just saying that you should say ‘as you wish’ instead of ‘as you like.’”

Keith doesn’t bat an eyelid at the request.  So that’s a no on the movie, then. “That so?  I was raised in the South. My manners aren’t as nice as they could be.”

“Aren’t Southerners famous for their manners?”

“Hospitality, I guess.  I don’t have any of your fancy charm, though.”

Shiro reaches out to pluck a dust bunny from Keith’s hair.  “You’re charming in your own way.”

“You like boys who are rough around the edges, huh?”

The corner of Shiro’s mouth curls up.  How does he explain the appeal, the flavor of wildness and freedom that Keith so effortlessly exudes?

“I guess I do,” he murmurs a little wistfully.

“Well, I guess Sendak is kind of… manly aggression rough.  If you like that kind of thing.”

Keith gives him a small smile, and Shiro looks away, sighing, the wistfulness growing.  He  _ had _ been attracted to Sendak, initially.  In fact…

But, things change.

“He is very handsome.  Too bad his personality is shit,” he comments absently.

“Yeah, he wasn’t the friendliest of guys.”  Keith steps forward to where Shiro is filling the doorway, and Shiro steps out of the way, letting him pass.

“He’s… like that.  To anyone who isn’t rich.”

“Well, I guess I won’t be invited to his birthday, then,” Keith jokes.  “It’s okay. He pays me, and that’s enough.”

Shiro snorts.  “He might hire you to serve drinks.”  In fact, Shiro might push for it himself.  But then he pauses, concerned. “He  _ is _ paying you well, yes?”

“You are  _ both _ paying me just fine.  And I thank you for it.”  Keith tilts his head, and Shiro’s face softens at the gentle reminder that Shiro is a part of this, too.  “Maybe I’ll get a nicer uniform.”

The smirk returns.  “Am I allowed input?”

“I suppose.  Are you the birthday planner?”  Keith drops the wide brush to the floor and starts to sweep.

Shiro’s eyes drag along Keith’s arms.  “I could be.”

“I suppose you’ve got a catalogue for fancy pool boy uniforms to waste your millions on,” Keith teases, rounding up debris and moving it away from the pool.

“Absolutely.”  Shiro pulls up the International Jock website on his iPhone.  “Want to give your input?”

“Wait, what?  I have a uniform.”  Keith eyes Shiro a little nervously, and Shiro can’t help but grin.

“But you could always go for an upgrade.  On the house, of course,” Shiro muses innocently.

“Well, what were you thinking?”

Shiro tilts the phone in his direction, and Keith steps over until he can see the screen.  As soon as he’s close enough, his eyebrows shoot up high enough that they get lost in his hair, a faint, pink flush on his cheeks.  “Those are… small.”

Shiro shrugs, pulling the phone back.  “Just a thought.”

“W-well, maybe we can do one of those for  _ your _ birthday.”

Shiro’s grin grows.  “I already have a few.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Keith grumbles, rolling his eyes and turning back to his work.

“I don’t know,” Shiro replies smoothly.  “You tell me.”

“Because of your pure love of swimwear fashion?” Keith guesses.  He’s stopped sweeping, a pile of the mess in front of him, but he doesn’t move.

“I’m a purist at heart,” Shiro says solemnly, though his eyes twinkle, just a bit.

“So that’s what they’re calling it these days.”

They sit there in silence for several moments, eyes locked on each other.  Shiro takes in the surprising softness that seems to flicker through at the most unexpected moments.

“I—I need a dustpan,” Keith stammers, turning on his heel and making a beeline for the pool shed.

Shiro leans back, starting in on his second drink and smiling faintly.

He may be bored to death, but at least Keith is nice to watch.


	3. Chapter 3

Keith lingers in the poolhouse longer than he needs. Why not? He could probably stay in here and never need to leave. The damn thing might be even bigger than the house he's been provided on the grounds. He can see, around and under the shit that's been piled up, the place must have been a pretty cozy place to entertain. Couches, a TV—although dusty as shit—even a small kitchenette. It needs a little TLC, but Sendak might even let him live in here instead.

Reasonable Keith points out that Sendak absolutely would not. Wishful Keith tries not to think about how that would put him closer to Shiro.

God. Shiro. How the fuck is he supposed to focus on _anything_ with him around? It's barely been hours, and Keith's mind won't stop whirling with images of that perfect, tanned skin, try as he might to insist that the flirting is probably just so Shiro can stay in practice.

Keith needs to calm the fuck down. This building probably doesn't have a bed, anyway.

One deep breath. Two. He can handle this. Just leave, don't look at Shiro, and think professional thoughts.

Dustpan in a white-knuckled grip, Keith opens the door and steps through.

“Thought you'd gotten lost in there.”

Keith makes a noncommittal noise, heading back over to his broom and filling the dustpan. He isn't going to get himself fired.

“Your movements are so graceful. I've never seen anything like them. Would you like to model for me sometimes?” Despite the innocent tone of the question, Keith's face burns. “Or I can model for you. Do you draw?” 

God, Shiro _has_ to be fucking with him. No one uses a line that bad.

But somehow, coming from Shiro, it seems like a _great_ idea.

Keith straightens, leaning on the broom and trying not to look like Shiro has him wrapped around a finger. How he's ever going to drag himself away to do the hedges and god knows what else, he just doesn't know.

“I can draw stick figures.” Keith shrugs. “But Sendak did say to help you with anything you needed, so if you wanted a model…”

All of his resolution, dashed to pieces in ninety seconds, tops. That has to be some kind of record.

Shiro traces a finger down the spine of his book.  Keith finds himself wishing he were in its place.  “I got a little overeager, I’m afraid.  I can’t draw very well, either.  What about photography?”

“I used to help my dad take pictures sometimes…”  Keith pushes down the memories.

“If you have a camera and want to practice, let me know,” Shiro says, inspecting his nails idly.

Keith shakes his head, smiling indulgently.  What a fucking character.  “Anyone ever tell you that you’re a really odd duck?”

“Not in those specific words, no.”  Shiro shrugs, the small smile not leaving his face.  “A slut, yes, which I suppose amounts to the same thing in this situation.”

The tone changes too quickly for Keith to keep up, and his stomach drops.  “Oh.  No, I… I didn’t mean—”

Shiro only raises one perfect eyebrow, still appearing mildly amused.  “What?  I’m not offended.  It’s not a bad thing.”

“Uh… okay.”  Fuck.  “That’s not what I meant though.”  Keith can feel that his flush has returned, and he rubs his nose to cover it.

“Then what did you mean?”

“I just meant… that you’re weird, but it’s kind of cute.”

The smirk slowly grows.  “You think I’m kind of cute?”

Keith swallows, watching as Shiro stands and steps closer.  “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Shiro is only a breath away now, and he leans in, just a little.  “Only kind of?”

Keith grounds himself, refusing to be intimidated, at least visibly.  “Well, can’t have you getting big-headed.”  He winks at Shiro, and even just the act of sauciness bolsters his courage.  He sidesteps around Shiro lithely and lets his fingertips graze Shiro’s chest on the way.  Shiro watches him wistfully, reaching out to take Keith’s wrist in a halfhearted grip.

Keith can feel where Shiro’s skin has been warmed by the sun, soft from a presumably easy life.  He gives in to temptation and bends a little to press a kiss to Shiro’s knuckles.

“Duty calls,” he says with a sharp smile.

Shiro runs his fingers over Keith’s wrist, making the skin tingle.  “Isn’t it your duty to look after me?”

“I thought it was to look after your pool.”

“…Maybe another drink, then.”

Keith’s lips twitch.  “As you… wish.”

Shiro steps in a little closer, and Keith can feel his mouth getting a little dry.

“Make me your favorite.”

Keith doesn’t move this time.  “Sure.  But you gotta know I’m a real boring drinker.  How do you feel about a Southern Joe?”

“I don’t know that one,” Shiro hums, tilting his head.  “But absolutely would like to give a Southern Joe a try.”

Keith shrugs lightly and lifts the brush, turning from Shiro to take it back to the pool shed.  As Shiro walks alongside him, he tries not to grin.  “Easy as hell.  A baby could do it.  One part Southern Comfort, two parts Jack Daniels.  Goes down smooth.”

Shiro smirks.  “I’m sure you would.”

“Well, I haven’t had any complaints yet.”  His heart is beating faster than it should be.  Flirting with Shiro is fun, and they let each other get cheesy because it’s funny but somehow makes Shiro still makes it sexy and—

Is this going to be a problem?

No.  It’ll be fine.  He knows it’ll be fine.

“Do you want me to return the favor?” Shiro replies smoothly.  “I could see how smooth you go down.”

Keith’s skin prickles again.  He swallows.

Maybe Shiro would swallow, too.

But despite his initial thoughts, the suddenness of the proposition jars him.  What had started as sexy and teasing now seems uncomfortably possible—and immediate.  Keith has had his fair share of casual hookups, but for some reason he’d been expecting something with a little more… development.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Keith reaches for a dustpan, not looking over at Shiro.

“Why not?”  God, Shiro sounds so light and innocent.  “Just a bit of… fun.”

“…I really need this job.”  He wishes he didn’t.

“I won’t let you lose it.”

Keith pauses, then risks a glance over at Shiro, wondering if he has previous experience with this sort of thing.  “You know, if you’re lonely, anyone in the world would be honored to spend the night with you.  Or whatever.  People way more your speed.”

“Trust me, I’m very aware of who’s my speed.”  He winks at Keith, who can feel his face heat, but Shiro’s expression grows a little more sober.  “But if you’d like me to stop bothering you, let me know.  I will.”

Keith can stop this right here.  He should.

If he wants.

“If we’d met before, in a club or a supermarket or something…”  Keith bites his lip, the dustpan forgotten.  “Family is important.  You’re married.  That’s…”

Keith thinks of his own family in scattered fragments, and the guilt washes over him even though he and Shiro haven’t done anything.

Shiro snorts derisively, and for just a moment something flashes across his face.  Keith can’t identify it, however, and it vanishes in a moment.

“I’ve just never…  I’m not the kind of person that goes around looking to hook up with married guys.”

He shakes his head, wondering if he’s trying to convince Shiro or himself.  He wonders if he just wants Shiro to convince _him_.

And Shiro, it appears, is happy to oblige.

“If you want to forget about that, I can be anything you like.”  Shiro steps forward, head cocked, and though for a moment Keith thinks he catches an ache in his expression, it settles quickly into something coy.  “I know what I am.  And if that sort of thrill isn’t what you want, then something else?  Dumb and crazy about you.  Shy and uncertain.  Even…”

He looks up at Keith from under his eyelashes in a way that leaves his head spinning, and Keith has to catch his breath.

Once he has, he barks out a laugh, but it’s sad.

“Shiro, have you seen yourself?  You don’t have to change for me to like you.  I’m already having a lot of fun.  You’re somethin’ else, to be honest.”  He rubs his ear, and it feels hot to the touch.  “Is a pool boy you barely know worth risking your whole life?  I don’t want to break up a home.”

Shiro grimaces, rolling his eyes.  “You can’t break something that never existed in the first place.”

Keith shakes his head.  He leans back against the countertop and folds his arms.  “That—that doesn’t make any sense.  How can a marriage not exist?”

“A marriage, sure.  But a home?”  Shiro scoffs.  “How can a shiny toy meant to adorn the arm of an important man be part of a home?”

Keith licks his lips nervously at the unexpected candor, head spinning again but in a different way.  “Oh.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow, his expression back to carefree.  “I told you,” he says easily.  “I know what I am.”  His casual acceptance leaves a bitter tang in Keith’s mouth.

And so he does something that he’s never done before.

“When I was a kid..”  Keith clears his throat and steels himself.  “When I was a kid, I got into a ton of trouble.  Fights and gangs and…  Everyone told me I was worthless.  Police and teachers told each other that I was a waste of time.  And for most of my life I believed them.  But I’m worth a lot, Shiro, and so are you.  Just because some folks can’t see it doesn’t mean you’re not.”  He reaches out to take Shiro’s hand, the soft and warm skin tingling against his own, and Shiro’s eyes widen a little.

He squeezes back, and for just a moment, Keith isn’t sure what—

But then Shiro’s mouth curves into an indulgent smile, something that Keith is already beginning to realize is a type of armor.

“I’m good at two things,” he drawls.  “And I guess that does make me worth a lot.  Looking pretty, and…”  Shiro tugs his hand away and slowly sinks to his knees, raising an eyebrow up at Keith questioningly.

It should be sexy.  It should blow Keith’s mind.  But for the first time since meeting Shiro, Keith’s libido has completely taken a rain check.

He huffs through his nose and drops down to sit in front of Shiro, legs crossed.

“You don’t have to suck my dick for me to be your friend.”  He holds out a hand.  “I’m Keith.  I like cars and bikes and cats, and I love dipping fries in milkshakes even though I’m not supposed to drink milk.  Okay, your go.”

Shiro looks genuinely caught off-guard, and he wobbles back, almost falling on his ass before he settles down, still kneeling but now sitting on the backs of his feet.  Keith thinks he might even spot a blush.  This time, Shiro is the one who swallows.

“Uh.  Sorry.”

Keith smiles and sighs a little; despite the sexiness of Shiro’s confidence, he finds the awkwardness and uncertainty even more appealing.  “Okay, so normal people, I’m reliably informed, shake hands and introduce themselves.”  He reaches out with already-extended hand and wobbles it a little.  “There.  So, I know you’re Shiro.  What do you like?”

“Um.”  Shiro blinks, disoriented, and Keith takes mercy on him and releases his hand.  “I like good drinks, I guess.  Swimming and working out.”  He smiles crookedly.  “Fries?  That’s something I haven’t heard of before.”

“There you go.”  Keith offers him a small, encouraging smile.  “You know, since you’re letting me room here and all, we’re _kind_ of housemates.  So that’s pretty cool.  Maybe you can give me some workout tips.  And maybe I can take you to an old diner with the best sweet potato fries a shake could ever ask for.”

A wistful expression flickers across Shiro’s face.  “I’m not sure Sendak would approve of me going somewhere like… that.  But you can use my workout room, sure.”

Keith keeps his mouth shut, his opinion of Sendak plunging directly through the floor.  He wants to ask if Sendak stops Shiro leaving the house, or talking to people.  He wants to ask if Shiro chooses to stay at home or if Sendak won’t let him have a job.  Keith’s mind whirls, and he has to focus not to glare viciously.

“We can start with that.  And I can learn your favorite drinks.”

“I’d like that, sure.  But I’m not really picky.”  Shiro shrugs, his composure already regained, just a bit.  “And… maybe you could bring me a milkshake and fries.  Just keep it quiet.”

It takes everything within him for Keith not to grit his teeth.  “Sure.  Poolhouse picnic?”

Shiro laughs softly.  “Works for me.”

Keith’s eyes soften when he smiles.  “It’s going to be fun having a friend at work.  I’m glad I get you for a boss.”

Shiro clears his throat and pushes himself up, still clearly embarrassed.  “I should let you get back to work.”

Keith nods.  “I’m here if you need me for whatever.”

This might be too much for one person, but… somehow he knows he won’t stop thinking about Shiro if Keith doesn’t help him.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Shiro jokes lightly.

“Yeah.  Okay.  Well… you know where to find me.”  Keith feels like he’s lost control of this one already.  He’s not a people person.  But something about Shiro makes him yawn open inside.”

“Guess I do,” Shiro murmurs, lingering.  “Sorry to bother you.”

“You didn’t.”  Keith keeps his tone light but firm.”

“Right.  I’ll… see you later.”  Shiro nods.

“As you wish.”  Keith stands and brushes off his pants as Shiro slinks out the door.

—

Keith leaves him to his book and starts to learn the job.

Shiro doesn’t call him over again that day.  Or the next.  Or the next.

He discovers he’s bad at cutting hedges when he chops a leafy wing off a topiary bird and has to stuff it back into the hedge, but he does just fine on the huge lawnmower that looks more like something from a building site and rumbles between his legs.

He spots Shiro, once again lounging at the pool and reading.  He offers Shiro a wave from the top of the lawnmower but can’t tell if he’s watching from behind those designer sunglasses.

He thinks he might see Shiro lift his glass in acknowledgement, but he’s so far off…

And then Sendak steps into the gated area of the pool, drawing Shiro to his feet and wrapping an arm around Shiro’s waist.  They kiss with obvious eagerness, Shiro’s hand twining around Sendak’s neck.

Keith leans on his palm on top of the beast and watches Sendak paw possessively at Shiro.  They don’t look anything but the picture of rich bliss.

He wonders if Sendak really would get mad at Shiro, or if that’s just if he goes with Keith.

And the lawn—the damn thing is even bigger than it looks.  He only manages half of it before the sun sets; Beau assures him that no one manages on their first time and that he can finish tomorrow.

Shiro doesn’t call for him that day, either.


End file.
